Word of the Day
by hopelily
Summary: From ensorcell to indelible, this series of drabbles is all about words and the drabbles inspired from them. Chapter 6: Sometimes actors pause for dramatic effect though real life is rarely so structured. And sometimes, in real life, a pause lasts forever
1. Ensorcell

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the characters implied in this story. Got it? Good, let's move on.

**Author's Note:** Yeah, a few absolutely ridiculous oneshots should've taught me my lesson about not posting at night, when I should be doing homework, especially when it's a little diddy I wrote in about the space of a minute. But alas, no. And I had this amazing idea when I was looking on dictionary .com to do a word of the day series, in which I take a word (from dictionary .com of course) and build a drabble around it. I'm hoping this little excerise will improve my drabble writing skills, which aren't great since I'm not a concise person.

But obviously, I won't be doing this every day, just on days when I have time and the word is particularly interesting. Today, I just couldn't help but notice how perfect this word was. Well, it is Hallowe'en, after all.

And also, once again, I'm off-track on Collision updates (Artemis Fowl: Collision of the Worlds, my one and only chaptered fic for those of you who don't know. Now go and read it!), being midterm week and all. So, this is, once again, compensation for my laziness.

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**_Ensorcell _**

_(v.) to enchant, to bewitch _

_Abracadabra!_ The rudimentary, simplified versions of magic ignorant humans have created to amuse themselves with are untrue, to put it gently. As if there really existed an earthly brand of magic that could render even the wildest dreams to be reality. If only it were that simple.

For there is magic on earth, I've learned only too harshly. It is all around us, in animals, and in humans too, surprisingly, for those who are receptive enough to recognize it. But this magic cannot be easily tamed as those silly enchantments of fiction. No, instead, it exists on a level far deeper and far more mysterious.

Even I, considered by most sentient beings to be among the brightest of them all, cannot quite fathom the intricacies of magic. Not that I haven't tried. But for all my efforts, magic is not yet at my control.

And yet, she has controlled me, in the deepest sense of the word— not in mind or body, but in soul, if I dare use such a clichéd term. But then again, I, the genius, have been ensorcelled by the mere thought of a female. Now, that is clichéd, and in a way, ensorcelling in itself.

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**Author's Note:** That is 200 words, exactly. Yay for conciseness! 

Well, it's probably pretty bad, given it was on the spur of the moment, but review nevertheless. Please?


	2. Myrmidon

**Disclaimer:** Any characters implied in this story are not mine.

**Author's Note:** Yes, I'm still alive, and kicking. I know that I am, once again, pitifully late on my updates of Collision and those readers are probably muttering obscenities under their breath and saying, "Friday, she said Friday. Well, it's Friday..."

My answer? Here's a drabble. Read:**

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Myrmidon 

_(n.) a loyal follower, especially one who executes orders without question, protest or pity_

He was a steady shooter. His strong, sturdy hands never missed their mark, especially when his weapon of choice was within his grasp. And the reason for shooting? That was not his to ponder.

The focus of his entire life had been servitude; the driving force for every action was not himself, but the one he served, whether it was his country, his agency, or now, his principle. Those scruples he had held so dear as a child were meaningless now— there was only the command and the task of executing it.

To assist in a burglary was fine. Even to kidnap a living, breathing, sentient person was not sufficient to raise a single protest within. But a murder and one out of malice, not self-defense, was a different matter altogether.

And yet, even as the deepest fibers of his being urged him to stop, to turn back, his bulky physique did not hesitate in its quest. Legs marched adamantly forward even as brain and heart cried out for mercy. That sturdy hand lifted the familiar gun and his ever-obedient finger completed the task.

To be strong, efficient, and impassive was his goal— and his destiny. He was a myrmidon.

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**Author's Note:** In case you're confused, this is a AU drabble on Butler. Exactly 200 words (yay for conciseness!). And it's my first one about him, too! You know, this dictionary .com thing is really working for me. Their word of the day is almost always inspiring, and drabbles are a hell of a lot faster to write than Collision chapters. So, hopefully, this is something I can update far more often. 

Review, review, review!!!

Thanks,

Lily


	3. Indelible

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone except for myself...though that's debateable, too.

**Author's Note:** I figured I might as well update this story for once since it's currently taking on the look of an abandoned story. I promise, it's not. So here's another:

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Indelible 

_(adj.) 1) That cannot be removed, erased, or washed away 2) In capable of being forgotten; memorable_

There is a small bloodstain on his shirt where he had made the ultimate sacrifice for the boy so long ago. But it was also the one time in his life that he failed in his duty. He is not, however, a poor man and has a plethora designer suits to wear but yet, after all those years, he has chosen to keep this one.

Once, after the incident, he had attempted to wash the stain away from the soft linen cloth, as if that would wash the very memories of the fateful day away, too. But despite the inordinate amount of bleach that he set to the shirt, the stain remained, unyielding.

And so he kept the shirt, and the recollections. After all, he supposed, discarding the shirt and the one tangible reminder of that fateful day, for his bodily wounds had long since healed, would be akin to discarding the very memory of the boy. And as much as he would've liked to forget his failure, his inability to save the boy, he supposed that the stain upon his life was indelible.

Incidentally, so was the boy.

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**Author's Note:** This is an alternate universe in which Butler attempts to save Artemis's life in TEC but fails. Artemis dies but Butler survives. Or make up a different incident. Whatever floats your boat.

You might also notice that this word of the day isn't current. Ah well, I wrote this ages ago, okay? Yes, I'm so lazy that whenever I feel like I've abused my readers too much in my absence, I just drag up an old thing.

So, guys, you know the drill: review!

Lily


	4. Ennui

**Disclaimer: **In the words of Juliet Butler, "Ownership is like, you know, an illusion. Maybe we don't even own our own bodies. We could be, like, the daydreams of some greater spirit." Or a Sims game...

**Author's Note:** Firstly, I'm sorry for the abandonment and so as a reward, I've branched out. I have finally done a drabble about Minerva. Yes, Minerva Paradizo, the Canon Sue, the hated one. So here goes:

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**Ennui**

_(n.) a feeling of weariness and dissatisfaction arising from lack of interest_

She always knew that she was a difficult person to please. Growing up in the lap of luxury with barely a whit of trouble to ever plague her days and an adoring father constantly cosseting her with extravagant gifts, perfection is ordinary.

But when _he_ had drove his way doggedly into her life, she had thought that he just might be extraordinary. He was not perfect, that much was certain by his looks, pallid and awkward from the effects of puberty, but perhaps that was a good thing.

And daddy's dearest always gets her way. So she got him, caught him easily in her flower net, along with all the other joys she ever wished for. Nobel prizes and other distinctions lined her walls, flawless little children graced her life, and he catered to her every whim. But so, ennui still captured her in his insuperable palm.

And she was actually glad— no, ecstatic!— when he finally left; simply took off and left her and their monotonously perfect existence behind. And for what? For some idiot servant girl not half as beautiful or brilliant as she. For once in her life, she did not get the coveted prize.

Her hair was lopsided, her socks mismatched, and she reeked of that revolting smell of loss and failure known to all who dared to bear witness to the great fall of Minerva Paradizo. But she didn't really care.

Finally, finally she was free of that constant ennui; he had opened his hand and freed her into the world of loss, pain, and sorrow.

And she couldn't be happier.

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**Author's Note: **So, what did you think? I'm afraid it was a ridiculous attempt to inject some character into bland old Minnie. Wanna flame me, congratulate me, whatever? Why don't you do it in this miraculous invention called a review?

It's probably really obvious who the "he" was, but bonus points and virtual cookies to whoever gets the identity of the "servant girl"! So review!

Lily


	5. Caterwaul

**Disclaimer: **Ah, if only I owned it, but alas, some wishes upon a star just don't come true.

**Author's Note: **So, here I am, after a rather tiring week of volunteer, art, and writing. Oh yes, and swim practice was killer. I always wonder how on earth I manage to make spring break hectic. It's just crazy old me, I guess. Ah well, until summer.

But on the bright side, I'm currently typing up the fourth chapter of the sequel to Collision. I don't particularly like the first three since their awkward intros that I had to get out of the way before I get to the real stuff, the actiony, heart-string-tugging goodness. Those are the parts that makes me inspired. The rest...ah, it'll have to be edited and revised at some point. And thus...until summer!

So sorry about the wait and the lateness this week but here it is, some old drabble from months ago. I'm sure you're all just so excited. (sarcasm). Enjoy anyway:

**Caterwaul**

_(n.) a shrill, discordant sound_

As his eyes adjusted to the pristinely white, yet incredibly bland décor of the spacious hospital room, a familiar thought of disapproval crossed his sharp mind. But before he could lodge a complaint to the person in charge, a caterwaul jarred him from his thoughts.

His ears shrieked out for mercy at the horrifying sound and he wondered what sort of dastardly creature could possibly be so disagreeable. His eyes cast about the room and landed on a thing in his wife's arms. As he moved closer to examine this strange specimen, he saw a rather small, hairless creature with the most hideous reddish splotches disfiguring its newborn visage. He resisted an urge to fire the creator of this creature for failing to make it agreeable to the eye, or at least tolerably so…until he realized that it was he who had created such a thing.

As if noting its father's displeasure, the thing let out another cacophonous noise that surely stung the ears of all who dared to listen. For some strange reason that the man could not, to this very day, fathom, a peculiar emotion welled up in his chest, consticting his breath...could it be pride?

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**Author's Note**: Well, that was a rather weak, pointless little thing, wasn't it? In case you didn't catch it, this was from Artemis I's POV, about Artemis II as an infant. Sucky excuse for a dad...

So...got any advice, critique, flames, whatever? Talk to me, people, I'm bored! I'd love to hear from everyone of those readers I know exist somewhere out there-- wait, you do exist, right? (cricket, cricket...)

Until next time,

Lily


	6. Caesura

**Disclaimer:** Owner of AF? Seriously, who do you think I am? Oh, you must've mistaken me for a _real_ author, how silly of you.

**Author's Note:** I just tapped this up in the last ten minutes so I really don't know if it's any good and I don't really have time to think about it. But I figured that I've already abused my readers enough these past few weeks so I'll post this anyway and hurry on off to dinner-- it's my mother's birthday, so family calls. So anyway, enjoy:

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**Caesura**

_(n.) 1) A break or pause in a line of verse 2) Any break, pause, or interruption_

The actor struts and frets his hour upon the stage, utterly unknowing of the fate about to befall him. In a brief moment of contemplation, he pauses, a caesura in the prose, to glance into the audience, chancing upon a pair of penetrating azure eyes. But after a moment, his melodic words flow once more.

But not every soul in the audience noticed for among them, a young man was preoccupied with his own dilemmas, or to be specific, his own conversation. An invention as simple as a communicator connects souls miles, fathoms, and even worlds apart, but neither of its current users noticed the marvel, or the unnaturally metallic glint that lingered in the darkness of the hall, for the only thought occurring in their minds was merely of each other.

The young man's quick mouth quieted for a moment to listen to the response of his faraway friend. And speak she did, chatting away about matters of no real importance. But when she finally paused, and waited for his rejoinder, there was nothing but silence and merest hiss of static.

For her young man had already embarked on his own caesura, an eternal, irrevocable one.

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**Author's Note:** You know, I do think that this may be my first drabble underneath 200 words...quite stupid, huh? But I'm _so_ not good at being concise. This is like 185 or something. Maybe one day I'll actually manage an 100-word one! (gasp)

So did you all get that? I left it pretty much open to interpretation so tell me your interpretation and I'll tell you mine. (Hint: notice that the first line is roughly based off of MacBeth's famous monologue and be remined that my version is equally tragic...)

You know, since I've just had quite the sucky day complete with an impossible math midterm that threatens to attack my GPA with a wrecking ball, it would really cheer me up if you would fill my inbox with lovely review alerts...pretty please?

Lily


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